Chapter 3: Between Fate and Loss

Cough!

Cough!

Cough!

Abel slowly opened his eyes, furiously coughing and gagging, his body convulsing in an effort to expel something from his lungs. Despite his great effort, nothing seemed to come out. His throat burned, and his chest ached as he struggled to breathe, the remnants of a nightmare fading as reality set in.

Finally snapping out of his daze, Abel realized he was no longer drowning. Instead, he found himself lying on a thin straw bed inside a wooden room. The scent of herbs filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the straw. Curtains hung around the bed, and a desk and chair stood to the side, cluttered with medical accessories and various instruments. The room swayed gently with the motion of the boat, and the sound of pebbles sliding around the floor added to the strange ambiance.

Abel's mind swirled with a flood of memories from his village—his family, friends, and the simple life he once knew. The weight of those memories was unbearable, and with each passing second, a deep sense of grief and longing welled up within him. The realization that they were all gone, that he had no idea what had become of them, tore at his heart.

The pain was overwhelming. It came in waves, each one sharper than the last, leaving him breathless. His chest tightened, and his vision blurred as tears began to pool in his eyes. He tried to steady himself, but the sorrow he felt was too intense, too raw to control. It was the kind of sadness that stripped away all defenses, leaving him vulnerable and hollow.

But just as his sobs threatened to take over, Abel suddenly became aware of his surroundings. The ache in his heart was momentarily overshadowed by the strangeness around him. He was in a place that felt alien, foreign, like a dream that had taken a turn into a nightmare. The environment around him felt distorted, like the reality he had known had slipped away.

As Abel scanned the room, something caught his eye, making him jump back with a gasp.

Gasp!

Pain shot through his chest as he sat up abruptly, the sudden movement causing him to wince. For a moment, he almost forgot the pain, his eyes fixed on the figure sitting on a bed a few meters away. The figure was facing Abel, and as Abel analyzed the room, the individual was doing the same to him.

Abel instinctively moved one of his hands from his chest to his waist, where the knife his father had given him was still securely fastened. Relief washed over him knowing the knife was still there, and he gripped the handle tightly, ready to defend himself if necessary.

The figure was tall and strong, dressed in a knee-length tunic belted at the waist. The red tunic contrasted sharply with the black cotton pants he wore, the black embroidery on the collar and cuffs adding a touch of elegance to his otherwise plain attire. The man's face was stoic, almost expressionless, save for the small scar that split one of his thick eyebrows above his right eye. Facial hair was beginning to sprout around his mouth, giving him a rugged appearance.

“You're finally awake. You've been unconscious for three days—I thought you were dead,” the young man said, his voice low and steady.

Abel took a moment to process the words, his mind still struggling to catch up. He was trying to understand the individual in front of him, someone he didn’t recognize. The man’s head was almost block-shaped, his features sharp and defined. Abel’s confusion only deepened. Where was he? And who was this person?

After taking a moment to look around the room, Abel could tell he was inside some kind of medical facility. His mind began to piece together the situation—these people had taken care of him, ensuring he was alive. They couldn’t possibly intend to harm him, could they?

The last thing Abel remembered was the feeling of weightlessness, followed by a crushing impact, and then... nothing. Now, he was awake in this unfamiliar place. Finally processing what the other person had said, Abel replied, “Who are you? Where am I?”

As he spoke, Abel placed his hand back on his chest, feeling the sharp pain spread throughout his body. The pain forced him to lie back down on the straw bed, though he kept his eyes focused on the stranger.

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The young man stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over Abel. He looked at Abel with a hint of pity before making his way toward the door. “I’m Sena, and you’re on the Mossy Floater, one of the Stone Tower’s vessels. Didn’t your parents explain anything to you before giving you away? You’re in bad shape; you should get some rest.”

Abel struggled to understand Sena's words as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Mossy what? Stone what? I was never given away—I need help.”

Sena, who had approached the door to exit, paused for a moment before turning his head to look at Abel again. Could this boy truly be that ignorant? How had he ended up on this boat? Now even Sena seemed intrigued, his curiosity piqued by Abel’s apparent lack of knowledge. “You truly don’t know?”

From his position on the bed, Abel shook his head, confusion etched across his face.

Sena fully turned, leaning against the doorframe as he exhaled slowly, trying to make sense of the situation. “How did you get here? This is a boat sent to recruit young people for the tower. Usually, only families with a history in magic get the chance to send their youngsters out.”

Abel’s face twisted slightly as he tried to piece everything together. “Magic…? I fell down the ravine, and the next thing I know, I’m here.”

The boat swayed slightly, causing Sena to adjust his leaning position. “Falling down the ravine and still alive? You’re a lucky person…” His expression shifted as he spoke, almost as if he was recalling something important. “… Maybe… You were saved by those Apostles, I’m guessing, which means you’re coming with us. Now whether that’s luck or the opposite really depends on how you turn out in the tower.”

Abel was trying to absorb all the information Sena was giving him, trying to create some kind of mental map to navigate this strange new world. The idea of Apostles, magic, and ancient families—none of it made sense to him.

“What are Apostles? And why just big families and not everyone? Wouldn’t everyone contributing to the study of magic bring forth more inovation?” Abel inquired, still trying to gather as much information as possible. The frustration in his voice was clear. The recent events weighed heavily on him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if magic could have saved his village and his parents. Why was something so powerful restricted and hidden from the world?

Sena chuckled, finding Abel’s thoughts both naive and amusing. “Magic is vastly different from what the mundane people in those backwater provinces read in their books. It’s dangerous, hard to grasp, and not something that just anyone can control. You must be gifted with an attribute to even begin to understand the concept of magic. It’s reality-bending for the average person… And being gifted usually runs in the blood of these big ancient families. It’s a lucky hand by fate to be born into one of these families, a natural hierarchy created by the world.”

Sena paused before continuing, his tone becoming more serious. “As far as I know, Apostles are people in high positions within the tower. My family holds them in supreme reverence, and it’s said they’re capable of superhuman feats. My father once told me that a friend of my grandfather was an Apostle at one of the kingdom’s towers, which is why I have this opportunity. I know the road to becoming an Apostle relies on many factors, as well as many challenges, but I’m determined to reach the heights my grandfather friend once did. Everything I’m telling you is what my family has passed down to me, and it’s not much of a secret among the bigger families in the Rollan Kingdom.”

As he spoke about his family and their history, Sena’s pride was evident. For a brief moment, he puffed out his chest, a smile playing on his lips.

From what Abel could gather, there seemed to be an organization sending out these individuals called Apostles, who met with specific families deeply rooted in history. These Apostles recruited young people from those families to bring them back and teach them magic, hoping they would make breakthroughs in magical knowledge. It was all too much to take in. Abel clenched his fists against his chest, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to process everything. He didn’t even notice how much he was wrinkling his gray cotton tunic.

“Why are you in the medical room?” Abel asked, his voice a bit weaker now.

Sena, who had been leaning against the door, finally opened it, stepping out as he spoke. “I’ve been having issues with my ankle the past few days, but I’m better now. You should get some rest too. We have a few more days till we reach the shore.”

As Sena walked away, he turned back one last time, a serious expression on his face. “Also, not everyone in the tower or on this boat is your friend. Leave the flowers and sunshine in the past because, from now on, the road might be very treacherous, and not every recruit makes it to the level of Apostle.”

With that, Sena closed the door behind him, leaving Abel alone on the bed, contemplating and reorganizing all the information he had gained. The thoughts of his family and his village were still plastered on his mind, though. It all felt too overwhelming—managing this new world of information, trying to discern if there were any malicious intentions from his captors, and coping with the loss of his family.

For the moment, Abel decided to push aside thoughts of his current predicament. Instead, his mind wandered back to the tranquil times he had spent in the village with the other children, playing with the cute animals and enjoying the care his mother and father had always given him. He thought of Amanda the baker, Joe the fisherman, Aunt Bella, and all the people who had helped him learn something throughout his youth. As he lay there, still touching his chest and staring up at the wooden ceiling, tears once again began to race down the sides of his face, soaking into the straw bed. This was a much-needed moment of solitude, a time to grieve for the life he had lost and the uncertain future that was ahead of him.